Connor swallowed his easily. “You won’t. But I will,” then called out, “Any bourbon left, Toby?”
I’d thought I had a high tolerance, but Connor was on another level. He threw back the liquor as easily as he had the little blue pill, of what he still wouldn’t tell me. I hoped it was ecstasy or some kind of upper, because the weight of the liquor was making my head feel heavy.
But things slowly got brighter, the water starting to seem more interesting, the way it rippled and splashed around my body, and I wondered how all those atoms held us together and moved so effortlessly while still remaining stable.
I tried to explain it to the boys, but by then they were out of the water, wandering around the deck trying to get better service and call some girls over.
“I’m plastered, and it’s a fucking sausage fest!” Toby yelled into the empty air. Max tripped over the pool chair Connor was sitting on and started laughing even as the blood ran down his leg. Connor rolled his joint and smiled at me, and I dipped underwater and opened my eyes, enjoying the silence.
In a matter of minutes a bunch of girls came over, including Jess’s girls Anna and Lizzie, wearing barely-there bikinis, massive sunglasses, and clutching bottles of Stoli. There were about six of them in all, and I stayed floating in the pool even as the boys tried to call me over, watching them gawk and drool like hungry wolves at their soft curves and breasts, the way they threw their heads back when they laughed, warm smiles glowing in the light of dusk.
“Are we gonna get arrested or something?” Anna asked, grinning and snapping her gum just like Jess did.
“That’s what I said!” laughed Max.
“Babe,” Toby said, wrapping an arm around Anna’s waist. “The cops don’t give a shit that we drink here, dope here, or that people fuckin’ die in the streets in this town. You think they give a fuck about our little party here?” He snatched her sunglasses and put them on, then pummeled his chest and screamed like a wild animal while the girls cracked up, chugging the vodka straight before jumping into the pool.
It comforted me to know that Jess was home, busy cramming for some exam, far away from this drunk and horny mess.
“Where’s Jess?” I heard Toby ask before I went underwater again, swimming to the deeper end, wondering how long I could hold my breath before I passed out.
When I surfaced I felt a presence behind me, and I turned to see Connor with that expectant smirk of his. I noticed how good he looked with his hair wet, water dripping from his face and down his throat. Maybe it was just the drugs talking, but I wanted to keep looking.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
He just kept treading water, staring at me like he wanted to say something. I felt my stomach tighten.
“So, uh, you don’t want to mess with that?” I asked, motioning to the girls at the other end of the pool. “They’re pretty hot.”
“You think so?” he asked, splashing water across his face and slicking back his hair.
“I guess,” I said. “They’re alright.”
“They want to fuck me,” he said. It was then I noticed that his eyes were glazed over, not looking directly at anything in particular.
I laughed. “You’re gone, bro.”
“I am,” he said. “And I feel fantastic. The pills do work their magic.” He swam closer. “They want to fuck me. You want to fuck me. Everyone wants to fuck me.” My stomach dropped, and I swallowed hard.
“You’re cocky as hell when you’re gone,” I said.
“And you’re a scared shitless drunk,” he said.
I faked a laugh, but he wasn’t smiling. “I’m not scared of anything.”
He moved over to me, and I could feel his breath on my neck, smell the bourbon on it, his lips moving to my ear. “Bullshit,” he whispered. “You’re scared of everything.’”
Then he plunged underwater and swam away, towards the girls and the music, leaving me breathless at the edge of the water.
12.
I was so restless that weekend I could barely breathe. Every time my phone made a sound of any kind, I half-expected it to be him.
Breathe, Jack. It was all I could do. Mom spent her weekend passed out in front of the TV, snoring softly with Gunther curled up at her ratty bunny-slippered feet. Dad was working at the bar. I was attempting my history essay, slogging through it in between smoke breaks and nervous glances at my phone.
Get a grip, Jack.
At around noon on Sunday my phone finally rang, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Mom mumbled something about quiet from her spot on the couch, even though the TV was blasting Maury.
My pulse returned to normal when I picked up and heard her voice.
“Can I come over?”
It wasn’t Connor, but it was just as good.
Stepping inside my house was probably like stepping back into the 1970s, or at least what I imagined the seventies to be like from movies and TV. The wallpaper in the kitchen was old and ugly, outdated and blackened at the corners from years of cigarette smoke. The floors were cheap linoleum, the living room furniture ugly colors and patterns that clashed against the bright orange wall. We even had a zebra print rug in the dining room where Old Gunther liked to lie. It always smelled like smoke and dog and whatever woodsy potpourri Mom had put out to freshen up the air.
I hated it. It felt like living in a time warp. Jess loved it. She said it felt like home.
“Hi buddy!” she squealed. Gunther’s nose went right between her legs the second I let her in.
“Hey buddy,” I echoed, and I pulled her into a hug, immediately melting into her. She smelled like body lotion and sugary perfume and girl.
“Oh, it’s the lovely Jessica
